


Twenty Seals in America

by allyjuice



Category: Supernatural, The West Wing
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyjuice/pseuds/allyjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Supernatural - West Wing fanfiction incident. One shot follow-up to The Crackpots and These Werewolves.</p><p>If you will insist on getting lost in small-town America, some day you're bound to run across them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Seals in America

And so it comes to pass that Josh and Toby find themselves abandoned at an out-of-the-way diner next to a dusty, back-country road in a part of Indiana that technically doesn’t exist, at least according to the cell network.

While Toby goes to use the bathroom, Josh orders coffee from the joint’s only evident waitress.

There is one other customer and technically, Josh is not sure he should exist either. He sits in one of the booths by the window, staring dead ahead, his hands clasped neatly on the table in front of him, just so.

His beige coat and suit make him look like a tax accountant.

“Hey, you from around here?” asks Josh.

The other man looks up at him and shakes his head.

“We’re totally lost. Our party left without us and we’re… well… we need to get to any airport. Do you know any local cab firms?”

“I do not know of any,” the other man says, his voice oddly deep.

“You know which way Evansville is, then? I think we want to get on I-69 but we don’t even know which way that is.”

“I have no idea where I am,” says the other man.

“Oh, lost as well?”

“No, just waiting.”

“Say, mind if I join you?” asks Josh.

The other man seems to indicate he does not, so Josh slides onto the red plastic bench opposite him.

“What do you do, then?” he asks.

“I am a saviour of lost souls.”

“Oh, a man of the church?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m with the Bartlett for America campaign, yeah,” says Josh. “We were campaigning a couple of towns over. You saw the President’s speech on TV? I work with the guy who wrote that. His name’s Sam.”

“I don’t watch television.”

“Probably wise, yeah,” says Josh. “So you’re a man of God, do you think the big guy upstairs is rooting for four more years?”

“Re-elected? I wouldn’t think God was worried about that,” says the other man.

“You’re not political?” 

He shakes his head.

“Not in any way you’d understand.”

“Nah, I think you’d be surprised,” says Josh. “We were just a couple of towns over, like I said, and we’re getting really good turn out, and as you know Indiana’s in play so we really appreciate coming here and finding out what people here think. You Catholic? Presbyterian?”

“I’m all of them,” the man says. “But nothing matters.”

“Nah. I disagree. Look at it this way,” says Josh. “Everybody has, uh, something they care about…”

“Seals.”

Usually it’s taxes…

“What. Fluffy sea mammals? So you’re an ecologist, see? That’s political,” says Josh.

The other man shakes his head. “No, seals,” he repeats. “They’re being broken and there isn’t much time.”

“I think that’s primarily a Canadian concern isn’t it, sir?”

“You misunderstand me. A war is coming and we must protect the seals.”

Josh finally understands: “Oh, you mean the Navy! Well, sir, I can assure you that President Bartlett has no plans to disband the SEALs. Hey, look, so defence is important to you, and I know you may have heard that this administration has taken a soft line on foreign policy but actually in real terms President Bartlett has overseen a year-on-year increase in defence spending. Look at Qumar…”

“My ride is here,” says the other man.

Josh looks out of the window. A large black muscle car has just turned into the parking lot, its engine grumbling and throbbing. Josh feels menaced.

The other man rises and says, “It has been a pleasure, Joshua Lyman. I’m truly sorry for your campaign.”

Josh does not recall telling him his name. “Uh, that’s okay I suppose,” he says.

The door to the diner swings open and Josh turns to see a younger man standing there. He is pale, like a corpse, and seems to be limping. And is that blood on his hands? Josh thinks it may be.

“I killed them all, Cas,” he says. “It’s done.”

“All the termites in my church. Well done, Dean,” says Josh’s new friend. He gives a not-particularly-surreptitious tip of his head to let the newcomer, Dean, know they are not alone.

“Yes. The termites,” says Dean. He sniffs ruefully. “Bastards.”

“This is Josh Lyman,” says Cas. “He works for the President.”

“Bartlett for America. We’re actually here campaigning.”

“Sweet,” says Dean.

“Can I ask what you would like to see from a second term Bartlett administration, sir?” asks Josh.

“Tax breaks on silver bullets, ‘cos those mothers are expensive,” says Dean, “and a presidential pardon would be neat.”

“Pardon me?” says Josh.

“Seriously, man, I wouldn’t stress about your campaign,” says Dean dismissively.

“You not a voter?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that the world’s about to end,” says Dean. “C’mon, Cas, Sammy’s waiting…”

Toby returns from the bathroom at that minute, wiping his hands dry on the seat of his pants.

“Say, can we get a lift?” asks Josh.


End file.
